Her voice snaps me out of whatever trance I'd been stuck in.
I blink, realizing she'sright in front of me.Like, close enough that if I reached out, I could touch her hand.
When the hell did she even walk over?
"Wha—what was that?" I stammer, because apparently my brain forgot how words work.
She tilts her head, amused. "I asked what you're doing here?"
"Oh. Right."
I scratch the back of my neck, trying to look casual and probably failing miserably. "I, uh... came to give you this."
I hold out the paper bag to her.
She takes it without hesitation, brows knitting. "What is it?"
"It's just a little gift," I say. "You know... since you agreed to come watch my game on Saturday."
And just like that, my nerves melt into something else—pure, giddy energy. The kind that usually gets me in trouble. I can't help the grin tugging at my lips.
Her face stays neutral—confused, almost—as she glances between me and the bag. Then she pulls out the jersey. My jersey.
For a few seconds, she just stares at it. Silent. No reaction. No smile. Nothing.
"Wait—don't tell me you changed your mind?" I blurt out, my shoulders slumping.
Oh, hell.
Maybe shedidn'tsay yes. Maybe I dreamed that whole conversation.
Yeah, that tracks. I was running on zero sleep and high on hope, which apparently makes me delusional now.
And just like that, my grin falters.
The giddy rush I'd been running on all morning drains out, leaving me standing there like some crestfallen idiot clutching hope by the thread.
Whatever's written on my face must say enough, because Caroline blinks, then shakes her head quickly.
"No, no," she says, eyes wide. "I'm still going. I just didn't expect... this."
She looks down at the jersey again, fingers brushing over my name on the back.
Relief crashes through me so hard I almost laugh. "Oh, thank God. You had me questioning my reality for a second."
Her lips twitch, and I grin, softer this time. "I just thought... it'd be nice to see you in my jersey again. Watching from the stands, cheering for me—like before."
My voice dips. "I still remember how you were the loudest one out there."
For a moment, her expression shifts—her eyes softening, something wistful flickering there.
"I did used to go a little overboard," she admits, a small laugh escaping her. "Especially when people talked crap about you."
I smirk. "Oh, trust me. Iheardyou."
She rolls her eyes, smiling despite herself. "I wasn't that bad."
"You literally told a guy to 'get his eyes checked' when he said I couldn't score."
